


a line of greens and blues

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Identity Porn, M/M, Post-Recall, Secret Sneaky Genji, cyborg genji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: Hanzo is different than he remembers.He’s always had a sharp face, but the harsh cut of his cheekbones and the lines under his eyes make him look older, meaner--as does the faint wisps of grey hair collected around his temples. Hanzo’s never been overweight, but he is slimmer than Genji recalls from their youth, with the lines of his collarbones standing out starkly under his skin; and Genji suddenly finds himself concerned about Hanzo’s diet, worrying if he’s found enough to eat while on the run.He knows he shouldn’t really care, not after everything Hanzo has done to him.But that’s always been his downfall.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a commission for the lovely darkwulflord on tumblr! <3

Genji doesn’t know if it’s by a blessed miracle or some kind of divine punishment that he finds himself standing in the same Overwatch briefing room as the deadly assassin known as Hanzo Shimada.

He’s thankful for the visor as his older brother walks in, so he doesn’t notice the way he stares, disbelieving--thankful for his place standing in the back of the room, so that his jerk of surprise isn’t noticed by the other Shimada as he walks to the nearest chair and sits. Even when the meeting starts, Genji finds he can’t focus at all on what Winston is saying; no, instead he’s captivated by the sight of his brother, unable to pull his gaze away from the man he’d thought dead or gone for ten years.

Hanzo is different than he remembers.

He’s always had a sharp face, but the harsh cut of his cheekbones and the lines under his eyes make him look older, meaner--as does the faint wisps of grey hair collected around his temples. Hanzo’s never been overweight, but he is slimmer than Genji recalls from their youth, with the lines of his collarbones standing out starkly under his skin; and Genji suddenly finds himself concerned about Hanzo’s diet, worrying if he’s found enough to eat while on the run.

He knows he shouldn’t really care, not after everything Hanzo has done to him.

But that’s always been his downfall.

He’s always cared too much--can remember being young and engrossed with everything Hanzo, sticking close to his side and following him everywhere, even sneaking into the places he wasn’t allowed to be just so he could be nearer his older brother. It was relatively harmless growing up--brushed off as Genji just trying to follow in Hanzo’s footsteps, just another little boy searching for his big brother’s approval--until a few years passed, a few things changed, and Genji realized it was actually more.

So much more.

He remembers being sixteen and sneaking into Hanzo’s room, fishing out a pair of his brother’s underwear; remembers the fear as he’d hurried back to his own quarters, the fumbling, hurried desperation with which he’d locked the door. His hand was in his pants before he’d even slid all the way down to the floor, and he remembers holding Hanzo’s underwear up to his face as he frantically jacked off--remembers cumming harder than he ever had in his life, with the scent of his older brother in his nose.

He’d known from that moment on that whatever he felt toward Hanzo was no longer some cute, harmless thing. Keeping it a secret was enough to have him feel like he was dying; and then Hanzo’s betrayal, the news that he had disappeared, felt almost like a mercy.

At least if they were never together, Hanzo would never know. Genji could carry his shameful secret to the grave.

But now--now he finds himself staring at the smooth slope of Hanzo’s strong shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw, his bright, intelligent eyes. 

And he wonders about second chances.


	2. Chapter 2

Genji manages to go almost a full day in his brother’s presence before he can take the silence no longer. 

He catches Hanzo on his way out of the kitchen, late that night--runs into him in the hallway with his head down and a steaming bowl in his hands, and as Genji glances down at it he suddenly remembers not seeing Hanzo during the communal meal. He frowns behind his visor.

“Hey, Hanzo.” 

Hanzo starts a little at the voice, his eyes narrowed as he snaps his gaze up--he acts almost startled by Genji’s voice, like Genji isn’t a walking nightlight making soft shadows bob up along the walls, like his feet don’t click on the floor with every step he takes. Hanzo’s expression stays guarded, and Genji aches at it; when was the last time his brother wasn’t so aggressively defensive?

“What do you want…” Hanzo hesitates, eyeing Genji up and down for a moment before frowning. “...my apologies. I do not remember hearing your name.”

Genji stares at him--and it’s just when he’s opened his mouth to answer that he stops and reconsiders. 

Hanzo never wanted a relationship with Genji. Even if only on orders, Hanzo went out of his way to ensure that Genji would be removed from his life; and he, seemingly, has made peace with that. 

Genji never had a chance to act upon his feelings and potentially pursue Hanzo for something more. Genji never had the chance to show Hanzo just what his love could really look like, how he could make Hanzo feel.

But maybe someone else could.

And so--standing there in the hall beside his brother, with Hanzo’s mildly-irritated gaze fixed on him as he waits--Genji makes up his mind.

“...Hikaru,” he says, grinning faintly under the mask of his visor at his own cheeky little joke. Hanzo has always loved his literature. “You can call me Hikaru.”

The corner of Hanzo’s mouth twitches slightly, and Genji can’t tell if he’s fighting off a smile or struggling not to snarl at this walking glowstick wasting his time and making his food go cold. He stares up at Genji for a moment more, then dips his head slightly in a polite greeting.

“Hikaru,” he says; and for a heartbeat Genji desperately wishes that the fake name was real, just so he could enjoy the way Hanzo’s lips wrap around it all the more. “I am glad to meet you. But please excuse me; I would like to retire to eat. Good night.”

“Oh--of course.” Genji sidesteps to let him slip by, his gaze following the soft sway of Hanzo’s hips as he walks away; and he sighs quietly to himself, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

He’s either made the best decision of his life, or the worst.

“Good night, aniki,” Genji whispers, and pretends the strain in his voice isn’t from heartache.


	3. Chapter 3

A week later and Genji is out at the training grounds, running the obstacle course to test out the new breathing modification Angela integrated into his systems, when he sees Hanzo again.

He has to stop and stare midway through the climbing wall, simply captivated by getting to see his brother again--admiring his perfect posture and the way the brisk breeze makes his hair ribbon billow out behind him, how his muscles ripple enticingly under his tanned skin when he releases his arrow. Genji’s enhanced ears can detect the solid thunk of the target being struck, and when he looks down the range, Genji is far from surprised to find that Hanzo’s arrow has pierced it right in the center.

He’s always been an excellent shot. It makes sense that in their years apart his mastery of the bow would have only grown.

“--Hikaru?”

Genji startles at the call, blinks for a moment before he realizes that’s his name--looks back over sheepishly to find Hanzo frowning at him, Stormbow lowering to his side.

“Am I disturbing you? I can go elsewhere.”

“What? No--no!” Genji leaps off the wall, scratching the back of his head sheepishly as he walks toward Hanzo. “No, you’re not bothering me at all, Hanzo. I’m just…” He pauses, trying to pick his words carefully. “...it’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone so skilled with a bow.”

Hanzo swells a little with pride under the compliment, his chin lifting and shoulders drawing back, and Genji can’t help his rush of fondness--oh, but what he would give to be able to make Hanzo feel this way every day. To shower him with all the praise and compliments that he’s always deserved, but been denied. 

“I have had a very long time to practice.” Hanzo strums a thumb over Stormbow’s string affectionately, and Genji feels a sharp pang of want bolt through him, a desire to be the source of Hanzo’s gentle affections instead of his bow.

He can remember when he was, once. But that was a lifetime ago.

“I’ve never been especially good at it,” Genji confesses, shrugging as he watches Hanzo notch up another arrow. He pats the short hilt on his hip lightly. “Blades were always my preferred weapon. Could never make the bow listen to me.”

“Maybe you just weren’t saying the right things,” Hanzo murmurs, cutting his gaze over to Genji; he holds the stare as he lets the arrow fly, and from down the range they can both hear the dull noise of the target being struck.

Genji sighs softly--an awed sound, something breathy and reverent. “Maybe so.” He hesitates, then blurts out, “Could you teach me the right words to say?”

Hanzo blinks at him, like he’s taken aback by the request--back when they were younger, Genji can remember always complaining when Hanzo tried to show him how to do things, and instead insisting he could figure it out for himself--but after a pause he lets Stormbow lower down to his side and nods. The faintest hint of a smile makes his lips twitch, and Genji feels his heart flutter. 

“I suppose I could show you a thing or two.” 

And it’s not five minutes later that Genji finds himself standing across from a target with Stormbow in his hands, Hanzo’s body a warm presence behind him. After being apart from him for so long--and parting on such bitter, painful terms--Genji almost can’t believe that he’s here now, with Hanzo’s hands adjusting the angle of his shoulders and his voice quiet beside him as he murmurs, “Just like that, yes. Feel the tension in your arm, like an extension of the bow…”

Behind his visor, Genji lets his eyes flutter closed and revels in the deep, achingly familiar timbre of his brother’s voice. It soothes him deep inside, somewhere that not even Zenyatta and all his wisdom could ever heal.

Genji has no idea how long their lesson lasts. He’s too captivated by Hanzo’s pleased expression when Genji’s arrows hit their target, the way his eyes brighten as he talks in depth about his bow and archery, the relaxed lines of his posture--all things that he hasn’t seen in so long, in far too long--to worry about the time. Before he knows it, he’s firing off arrows into the burning glow of the setting sun, and when he glances over for Hanzo’s approval he finds his brother shielding his eyes from the glare.

“It’s gotten late,” Genji says, surprised by how fast the time has passed in Hanzo’s company. He feels a pang of bittersweet remorse that their time as boys could hardly ever be so pleasant--but he forces the hurting thoughts away to focus instead on how comfortable he feels beside Hanzo now, how the dying sun’s rays accentuate the sharp, handsome lines of Hanzo’s face.

Hanzo looks up at the sky with a faint hum. “So it has.” He glances back to Genji and frowns. “I apologize. I did not mean to take up your whole afternoon.”

“Are you kidding?” Genji laughs and hands the bow back, hoping Hanzo can tell how pleased he is without seeing the smile on his face. “It was great. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Hanzo takes his weapon back, and for a moment there is silence between them, stretching and awkward. Genji hates it, and tries to think of some way to break the tension; some way to keep the evening going, without being too forward and scaring Hanzo off.  
“...I was thinking,” he starts, slow and cautious, analyzing the expression on Hanzo’s face for any tells of displeasure. “I don’t think I’m quite as good with that bow as I could be. I could probably still use some practice.” He pauses for a moment, letting Hanzo sample the idea--giving him a chance to butt in before Genji keeps going. 

But when all he earns is one slender brow raising a little, Genji continues, “If you know any strong master archers around who might be free once or twice a week…”

He lets the sentence trail off and hang in the air between them, an open invitation that he’s almost certain Hanzo will shoot down. But instead, Hanzo’s lips twist up in a faint smirk; when he walks past Genji, he lets their shoulders brush.

“I think I might know someone,” Hanzo throws over his shoulder, and Genji feels his heart soar.


	4. Chapter 4

The first lesson comes a week later--and Genji is already running late.

He shows up to the practice range almost a quarter after seven to find Hanzo sitting cross-legged on the ground, the evening sun a glowing presence at his back and Stormbow laid neatly in front of him. His eyes are closed, and he doesn’t open them when Genji approaches; but when Genji is a few steps away from him he murmurs, “Was I unclear, when I told you what time we would be practicing?”

“No,” Genji says, frowning beneath the shield of his faceplate and hoping that he doesn’t sound as sheepish and cowed as he feels. He offers a slight bow as Hanzo stands. “I lost track of time, is all. My apologies.”

He straightens back up, and meets Hanzo’s gaze; for a moment the older Shimada just looks at him, his dark eyes calculating and sharp. Then a sly, slight smirk pulls at his rosy lips.

“Good.” Hanzo grabs Stormbow off the ground and turns away, walking toward the shooting stall with all the easy grace he’s always flaunted. “I was starting to fear that you had grown tired of my company.”

Genji stares after him, gaping at his brother’s choice of words--was Hanzo _flirting_ with him? 

When did Hanzo learn how to flirt?

Genji chases after him, crowding into the stall beside Hanzo; and it’s no accident that their shoulders brush as he walks to the front of the stall, that their gazes lock as Genji takes Stormbow from Hanzo’s hands, that his fingers linger over Hanzo’s own warm and callous ones just a second too long to be unintentional. 

“I could never get tired of your company, Hanzo,” he purrs, and is delighted to see the color that tinges Hanzo’s cheeks pink. “Maybe we could start to spend some time together outside of the range, sometime?”

“Maybe.” Hanzo rolls his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitch in the way that Genji has grown to know means he’s trying to hide his smile--it still makes his heart flutter, just like it did all those years ago in Hanamura. “Let’s stick to this, for now.”

“Of course, sensei.” Genji straightens up with Stormbow and casts his gaze toward the target; and if his stance is incorrect or his shoulders not angled properly, then it’s only because he’s rusty from his days without lessons, and has nothing to do with the solid warmth of Hanzo’s body as he presses up close to correct him.

-x-

They practice until the sun sets--until Hanzo is more fascinated with how the outlets in Genji’s armor glow in the gathering dark than making sure that the angle of his arm is correct--and, at Genji’s urging, retire to one of the common rooms near the personal quarters for ‘post-practice pointers’. 

“I think I’m getting better,” Genji boasts, sinking down onto the worn-down couch and kicking his feet up onto the wooden coffee table. He glances over to watch Hanzo sit down on the couch’s other end, a bottle of water in his hand, and at his raised brow adds, “Thanks to my wonderful teacher, of course.”

“Mhmm.” Hanzo rolls his eyes good-naturedly, cracking the bottle open and taking a long drink; and Genji finds himself watching, captivated by the working of Hanzo’s throat, the moisture that makes his lips shine when the bottle is pulled away. 

He suddenly wants to lick those stray drops away more than he’s wanted anything in his life.

“What a grateful student I have,” Hanzo quips, relaxing back against the couch--and the sight, Hanzo’s easy sprawl and rare casualty, is enough to pull Genji out of his reverie. “You’re a very quick learner, Hikaru. I’ve already noticed marked improvement.”

“Well, I do have an excellent teacher.”

The praise makes Hanzo smile, and Genji is caught by it, finds himself wondering if Hanzo had always been this good of an instructor--if he could have learned a lot from his older brother before, if only he’d stopped and cared to listen. It puts a slight damper on his good spirits, and Genji sighs as he leans back against the couch, suddenly overcome by the array of regrets and unhappiness about the choices in his youth.

At the time, it had just been fun. Looking back now, he can see it had been nothing but selfish.

Hanzo seems to notice the decline in Genji’s mood, and frowns as he shifts a little closer. “...Hikaru? Are you alright?”

“I…” Genji trails off, helpless--what is he supposed to say? As badly as he wants Hanzo’s reassurance that he isn’t hated for the foolishness of his youth, that would mean he would have to give away his identity, and how can he do that, now that Hanzo seems so fond of the mysterious Hikaru? 

He sighs again, shaking his head. “...it’s complicated,” is what he settles on, the cop-out bitter in his mouth. “I’m fine, Hanzo.”

Hanzo eyes him for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, before he turns his head away to look up at the grungy ceiling. “You remind me a lot of someone I used to know,” he murmurs. “He was my best friend, when we were younger...you have his same humour, his same smart wit. In the time I have been spending with you, I realize just how much I’ve missed it…” He glances over at Genji, out of the corner of his eye. “...and him.”

Genji falls silent, his heart hammering in his throat--is this what he thinks it is? It feels like an invitation, like Hanzo is opening the door, calling Genji out on his fake identity and giving him a chance to come clean; and as tempting as that is, as much as he wants to fall into Hanzo’s arms and hear his lips wrap around the word _otouto_ again, Genji is frozen in place by the crippling fear that it might not be.

If he’s reading this wrong--as he’s been told he’s good at doing--or Hanzo is trying to manipulate his way into forcing Genji to reveal himself--as he knows Hanzo is very good at doing--then falling for the trap could spell disaster. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve caused you any distress,” is what he says, getting to his feet too quickly to see Hanzo’s slack-jawed look of disbelief. “But if you don’t mind, I think I would like to go to bed. Training really wore me out, and today’s been a long day. Good night, Hanzo.”

He doesn’t wait for Hanzo’s answer--all but runs from the room, dashing down the hallway back toward the safety of his own quarters. It’s only when he’s safely inside that he falls backward against the door, slides down it with a hiccup; the faceplate is yanked free and thrown aside to clatter in some corner, and Genji buries his face in his hands, palms pressed against his eyes in an effort to keep the tears at bay.

_“I miss him.”_

It’s not fair--it’s not fair that Hanzo can do this to him, after everything that’s happened. It’s not fair that Hanzo can all at once make his day and ruin it, can have Genji running scared with the very mention of their relationship. 

It’s not fair that Hanzo has backed him into this corner, trapped him in his own lies, terrified him at the thought of returning to how they used to be.

_“I miss him.”_

_“I miss him.”_

_“I miss him.”_


	5. Chapter 5

Genji does not return to the training grounds for a week.

When he does finally sneak back onto the course, it’s with his shuriken flicking anxiously in and out of the tracks in his hands, his gaze darting nervously around the area; he’s almost disappointed when he doesn’t find Hanzo in his usual archery stall, but he can’t say he’s surprised. 

After the way he responded to Hanzo’s--potential, terrifying--invite to honesty the other night, he doesn’t think he’ll be seeing his brother for a while.

So Genji does what he’s learned to do, when his emotions threaten to overwhelm him and wash away his self control: he finds a practice dummy and unsheathes Dragonblade, and channels the white-hot frustration out through his blade.

Each slash at the dummy is another opportunity to come clean with his brother wasted; each strike of metal against vinyl is another year of distance and isolation that he’ll never be able to get back. By the time he’s finished even his synthetic muscles are aching with fatigue, and the dummy is a ruined mess in front of him, with pieces of white and black plastic littering the ground at his feet.

And from behind him there comes a quiet, slow clapping.

Genji whips around, eyes wide behind his visor--and finds himself rooted to the spot, staring blankly at Hanzo as the elder Shimada calmly walks up to him. 

“That was...quite impressive, Hikaru,” Hanzo murmurs, gesturing with one hand toward the wreckage of the dummy. “You are clearly very skilled with your blade.”

“Thank you,” Genji mutters, sheathing Dragonblade with a bit more force than necessary and doing his level best to avoid looking in Hanzo’s direction. He kicks at one of the shards of plastic at his feet, unable to even manage more than a scrap of relief at Hanzo using his fake name, and sighs as he comes to another disappointing realization. “Winston will be unhappy that I’ve ruined another practice target…”

“Another?” Hanzo sounds faintly amused, and against his better judgement Genji glances up--and immediately regrets it, as the slight wrinkles around his brother’s eyes and the smile that tugs at his lips makes Genji’s heart ache anew. He tries to look away, and finds that he absolutely can’t; Hanzo’s genuine smiles are so rare, so fond in his mind, that he can’t bear the thought of not committing this one to memory. “Do you have a habit of laying waste to mannequins?”

“Only when I’m upset,” Genji mumbles, shrugging half-heartedly. “It is better than the alternative.” 

“I would have to agree.” Hanzo hums thoughtfully, then takes another step closer, putting his hand on Genji’s shoulder--his palm covers the vents there, stifles some of the cool air Genji needs, and yet he can’t find it in himself to tell Hanzo to move. “However...there are other alternatives.” He pauses, then wryly adds, “Alternatives that do not require you to destroy Overwatch training gear.”

“Alternatives.” Genji tries his damnedest to keep his hopes from rising; but against the small smile on Hanzo’s face, the kind lilt to his voice, it’s an impossible task. He crosses his arms with a snort. “You say that like you have something in mind, Hanzo. Is there something you’d like to share with me?”

“Actually…” Hanzo’s grin turns shy, as a faint rush of color blooms across his cheeks--Genji finds himself hopelessly captivated, wondering if every annihilation of self is this sweet--and his hand slides down the smooth metal swell of Genji’s bicep to gently interlace their fingers, like he’s cautious, uncertain, but eager. “There is something I would like to share with you, Hikaru. If you wouldn’t mind giving me a little of your time…”

And standing there, with the warmth of Hanzo’s fingers on his own and Hanzo’s faint blush, Hanzo’s bitten lip and sheepish smile, Genji has entirely forgotten what the word no means.

He follows the gentle tug on his fingers back inside, surprised to find the base empty; how late had it gotten, while he was out venting on the training dummy? He thinks he’s missed dinner, but somehow he can’t find it in himself to care--not when he’s got other things to focus on, like the appealing sway of Hanzo’s hips as he walks and the quiet echo of their footsteps down the hallway, toward the wing of the base that Hanzo’s room is in.

It feels excitingly taboo--reminds Genji of all the nights he’d spent sneaking lovers in and out of the castle in Hanamura--and by the time they reach Hanzo’s door, he can hear his own heart thundering in his ears. “...Hanzo? What are we doing?”

Hanzo turns to glance over his shoulder at him, and Genji is delighted to find the blush has returned to those high-boned cheeks. Hanzo grabs for the doorknob, and his hand lingers there, like he’s suddenly second-guessing himself.

“I know you are upset,” he starts, sparing himself the discomfort of facing Genji any longer to push the door open and start inside. “And last time I tried to help, I only made things worse. I’ve never been able to talk to people as easily as I can my bow, but…” He hesitates, making himself turn to face Genji again as the door snaps shut behind them, and adds, “...maybe I could use something more than just my words to help you, Hikaru.”

Genji stares at him, blinking a few times as his mind races to process what he’s just heard. “Do you...what do you mean, Hanzo? What are you talking about?”

Hanzo looks at him a moment longer, opens his mouth to reply--and instead leans forward, pressing his lips to the warm metal of Genji’s faceplate. It takes Genji a few stuttering heartbeats to even respond; but then he’s reaching up, tangling his fingers in Hanzo’s long hair, holding him tight and keeping him close and whining behind the mask when Hanzo finally pulls away.

“Wait,” Genji starts, letting Hanzo’s hair slip through his fingers, unease suddenly coiling in his gut--they can’t do this, he can’t do this, he has to let Hanzo know. Hanzo has to know. “Hanzo, I--”

“Shh.” Hanzo’s hand finds his and squeezes once, and when he pulls Genji toward the bed he finds himself helpless but to follow. Never before has he felt as out of control of himself as he does when Hanzo’s hands guide him to lay down, when they play and run feather-light over his armor and the gaps between, the sensitive joins of metal and skin. 

“H-Hanzo…wait!” Genji makes himself sit upright, and before he can talk himself out of it, before he can lose his nerve, he grabs for his faceplate and tears it free, slamming it down onto the bed. He stares at Hanzo, holds his gaze, and is only dimly aware of his own body--he’s panting, he realizes. Steam pours from the vents in his shoulders. He feels like he could shake apart inside his own armor, and drops his gaze, staring down at where his hands tremble on the bedspread. “Hanzo...I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just--”

“Did you think I didn’t know?” 

Genji startles at the soft touch to his chin, the hand that cups his cheek and tilts his face upward; and when he looks again he finds Hanzo smiling, that rare, genuine thing that makes Genji’s heart race and his own soul soar. 

“My sparrow,” Hanzo murmurs, leaning close again; and Genji shudders to feel the wash of his breath, to see the tint of pink on his cheeks. “You have never been able to hide from me. Relax, my love, and let me show you just how much I’ve missed you.”

He guides Genji to lay back down and follows him, pressing a chaste kiss to his brother’s scarred, soft lips.

“We have so much to make up for.”


End file.
